


Love You All Over Again

by ThexInvisiblexGirl



Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fantasy, Post-Rent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-11-24 19:48:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18169307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThexInvisiblexGirl/pseuds/ThexInvisiblexGirl
Summary: A dark fairytale about past mistakes and second chances.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything fanfiction-related for ages, and hoping to get back to that I looked over my old files, and found this fic – which was complete but never posted, written five years ago or earlier. I played around with it and I think it's ready to be shared. It came out longer than I expected, so I split it into three parts. Happy reading, I hope you like it!

 

The wheels of the taxi skidded across the asphalt as it came to an abrupt halt in front of the ER. He thanked the driver hastily while blindly throwing a few notes at him, then rushed his daughter out of the car the best he could without hurting her further. The engine roared back to life shortly afterwards so he figured he somehow got the fare right, but to be honest, he just couldn't care less even if that wasn't the case.

It was a cloudless night, but the air was crisp, and he shivered. He did get a chance to grab a jacket before they left, but he had dropped it around her shoulders earlier on in the hope the thin material would keep the cold away.

She cuddled against his chest as if to shield her face from the chill. He tightened his grip on her. She had stopped crying somewhere along the short ride to the hospital, but from a momentary whimper or a sniff, he could tell she was still in pain. It made him anxious. At least she was still conscious, he told himself. He was beginning to feel faint, and carrying her didn't help in alleviating the sensation. He could practically smell the blood, even though he wrapped her arm the best he could with a towel. He couldn't see the gushing wound, but knowing it was there was enough to make him dizzy.

He rushed through the automatic doors and nearly bumped into a doctor who happened to pass by. He swayed unsteadily and tightened his grip of his daughter. Her head drooped against his shoulder. For a second, he feared she had fainted. A young man in green scrubs rushed towards them, asking him what was wrong.

"She fell and cut her arm. I think she needs stitches." She shrank in his arms at the word. He bit his lip and wished he could just keep his mouth shut. She began to whimper softly, as if the events of the last hour had finally begun to sink in. He hushed her gently, caressing her hair, and threw the doctor a pleading glance.

"Here, put her down," the doctor said, nodding towards one of the beds across the room, miraculously empty. "Someone will be with you right away," he said, drawing the curtain around the bed.

He opened his mouth to protest, but the doctor had already disappeared around the curtain. Who knew how long they'd have to wait now, he thought, holding back a curse. He took a deep breath. Just stay cool, he told himself. "You okay, Jordan?"

Her eyes looked huge, exactly the same color as his. "Yeah, Daddy."

Her voice was trembling, so he knew she was only acting brave. He used his thumb to wipe a few stray tears from her cheek. "Next time you want something from a high shelf, wait for me to get it for you. Don't try playing Spiderman, okay?" he teased her, tucking a strand of honey-colored hair behind her ear. It wasn't the first time something like that had happened to her. She was a bit of a tomboy, his daughter. There were scars and faded bruises all over her body. No one could blame him for those, at least; she got them while living with her mother.

He and Gillian had been separated for nearly three years now. Shortly before she got a job in Boston, she had told him she wanted a divorce. It didn't catch him off-guard. For the last few months, their marriage was going downhill. He knew she'd been planning to confront him about it for a while, and he did everything in his power to avoid her demands. He thought he was doing pretty well, too, until her relocation had been finalized, and she faced him with a new ultimatum: she was leaving, and she was taking Jordan with her.

It was a tough blow for him, even tougher than Gillian wanting out of their marriage. His daughter was the only thing that still mattered. His life had lost its meaning somewhere along the way. It was like an old picture where the color had slowly faded through the years. Instead of vivid colors, now he had grey in abundance. Until Jordan was born, he'd forgotten what other colors looked like. Somewhere between the death of the last of his friends, and his marriage on a precipice, he sort of sank into fathomless apathy.

"Sir?" He raised his head at the unfamiliar female voice. It was a different doctor than the one who had admitted them. She looked his age, give or take a year. "I'm Dr. Gilmore. Is this your daughter, Mr….?"

"Cohen," he replied, "Mark Cohen. That's Jordan, my overly-curious six-year-old."

"Hi, Jordan," Dr. Gilmore smiled. She had a nice smile, he mused. And pretty eyes. And she was a doctor, which had always been a plus at the Cohen household. Stop it, he reproached himself. You're here because Jordan hurt herself, not to hit on the medical staff. "What happened to your arm?"

"I cut it," Jordan said gravely, her bottom lip curling in a pout.

"She tried to reach a shelf twice her height," he said, cringing as he thought back of it. Gillian was reluctant to leave him behind at her place, but she had this gala event at work she couldn't get out of. He was fixing dinner for both of them in the kitchen when it happened. The faint 'thud' of her hitting the floor was still ringing in his ears. The sight of the carpet, drenched with her blood, was impossible to shake off. The floor was still a mess. He hoped Gillian wouldn't freak out... much.

"Do you want to let me have a look?" asked Dr. Gilmore, and gently took Jordan's arm. She removed the towel he had so carefully wrapped around it not an hour before. "It looks pretty deep," she said as she examined the wound. Jordan bit her lip; he found himself doing the same. "Let's clean and stitch it up first."

The examination room to which she'd led them was small, and the noise from the hallway was hardly audible once the door was shut. He tried not to look when the doctor cleaned the gash, and reached for her sewing kit. "Where were you when it happened, Mr. Cohen?" she asked, barely raising her eyes to his. Her tone was scolding and also a little blaming. The question hurt more than he had expected it to.

"I was in the other room," he answered, feeling incredibly guilty all of a sudden. Useless, as always. He shouldn't have let her out of his sight.

"So you don't know if she hit her head when she fell."

"No… I suppose she did," he said, his voice merely a whisper.

"We'll do an x-ray to eliminate a concussion," she said, adjusting the bandage she'd just wrapped around Jordan's arm. Then she looked up at him. "You can go back to the waiting room, and I'll come find you when we're back."

He meant to be assertive and tell her there was no way he was going to leave his daughter in the hands of a perfect stranger, but there was this no-nonsense air about the doctor, like Mary Poppins in scrubs. He walked them to the door and didn't take his eyes off Jordan until she disappeared from his sight.

Well, he had put it off for as long as he could. He took a deep breath, then took out his phone. His fingers were shaking as he composed a text for Gillian. He had lost all sense of time since they rushed in; hospitals tended to do that. He explained the incident as best as he could, asked her not to worry and promised he would keep her posted as soon as he knew more. Then he set the phone on silent mode and stuffed it in his pocket. He couldn't face her reply.

For ten minutes or so he just wandered aimlessly in the hallways. He couldn't remember where the main desk was, and everyone looked too busy to ask for directions. He passed by the gift shop and stopped there to get Jordan a stuffed pink unicorn. It was chubby and cross-eyed and it made him smile, despite himself. When he reached for his wallet, he suddenly spotted the main desk just outside of the small shop. From there on, the waiting area was easy to spot. He eyed the rows of orange chairs with apprehension, but walked over, chose one of them at random, and sat down reluctantly.

He hated hospitals. In the short hiatus he'd had from them, he forgot just how deep his loathing had gone. He hated the plastic chairs, the sour-faced receptionists, the dreary linoleums and dim florescence. Most of all, he hated the smell, not just of chemicals and detergents, but that of death and disease. It was faint in the area in which he was currently sitting, but he could still feel it, lingering in the air, clinging to his clothes, threatening to suffocate him. He put his head between his knees and focused on his breathing. It didn't help. It felt as if he was going to throw up or pass out, but he was determined to do neither, at least until he knew Jordan was going to be okay.

When the nausea began to fade, he slowly looked up and around him. Things seemed to have calmed down in the time that had elapsed since their arrival. There were fewer people around. Three other people had occupied the plastic chairs. The halls seemed emptier. The cacophony of incoming phone calls seemed to weaken, and a random ring resounded every few minutes or so. A different receptionist now manned the main desk. He glanced as his wrist watch. It was nearing midnight. He held back a yawn as he reached for the forms he'd left on the table, and began to fill them in. Luckily, he didn't have anything planned for the next day, as it was Sunday. His next conference was planned for Monday morning.

He was in Boston for business. He had never imagined he would once use those words, but that was his miserable reality now. He used to love his job, as head of the photography department in a children's magazine. But the long working hours, often well into the night, were the first catalyst to him and Gillian drifting apart. And over the years, his passion for the role had waned as well, and he was simply going through the motions. Only a decade earlier, he was all for art and ideals. A beautiful dreamer, always the optimist. His camera was his refuge, the most loyal of friends.  _Measure your life in love_  and  _No day but today_  were nothing but alien philosophies now, a foreign language he once spoke, but lost the hang of at some point of his life.

"Mr. Cohen?"

He started, then blinked. He looked around disoriented as the waiting room slowly swam into focus. Shit, he didn't mean to fall asleep. Every muscle in his body felt sore. His glasses were askew; he pushed them up the bridge of his nose. Now he could make out the pretty doctor from earlier. Dr. Gilmore, was it? He wasn't sure. He must have been really out of it, he thought. "Mark," he corrected by force of habit.

"Mark." She didn't crack a smile, and he was wondering if she was trying to appear intimidating. She wasn't really successful, as far as he was concerned; her strict poise didn't reach her eyes. "Jordan's x-ray came back and it looks good, but I'd like to keep her here overnight for observation."

"Yeah, okay, of course," he said, feeling almost dizzy with relief.

"I gave her something for the pain; it should knock her down for a few hours. You can see her now," she said, with something quite close to a smile curling at the corner of her lips.

He followed her silently down the hall, terrified of what he was going to find in the room she was leading him to, but when she opened a door and ushered him in, he felt like laughing at himself. "Hey," he smiled, relief surging through him again as he approached the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"'Kay." Jordan's voice was low, her eyes somewhat unfocused due to painkillers and exhaustion. Her feet barely reached the middle of the bed. The bandage made her arm look enormous, but other than that she seemed fine. There was some color in her cheeks, and she looked warm and cozy.

"I've got something for you," he said, holding up the pink unicorn he'd picked for her. She observed it for a second, then gave him one resentful look. Oh-uh. "What?"

"Unicorns are for little girls, Daddy," she scolded him, looking so damn serious he held back his laughter. It had always amused him, how she would sound so much older than her six years of age sometimes.  _They're growing up so fast_ , his sister Cindy used to say. He thought he knew what she meant, now.

"I'll ask a nurse to bring in a blanket for you," Dr. Gilmore's low voice came through, cutting short his frenzied thoughts. He forgot she was still in the room. He nodded distractedly. As if she noticed, she showed herself out, turning off the main lights on her way out. The room was immediately wrapped in semi-darkness, with a few emergency lights still on.

"Try to get some sleep now, okay, Jordan?" he whispered, tucking the blankets more tightly around her. She nodded and closed her eyes. It wasn't long before her breathing slowed. She was fast asleep within minutes. As he stood there watching her, he realized he was cold. He reached for his jacket at the foot of the bed and slipped his arms through the sleeves, zipping it as high as it could go. Then he placed the unicorn next to her, and sank into a chair on her bedside, snuggling into the jacket.

Seeing Jordan so peaceful reassured him, but he was too wired to feel truly relieved. Even if she was okay now, what difference did it make? It was all his fault. He wasn't there when it happened; he wasn't there to prevent it. She was under his responsibility and he wasn't paying attention. He could already picture Gillian's rage when she found out.

He took out his phone, and sure enough, five texts from her were awaiting him. No unanswered calls, thankfully. She must still be occupied at the gala. He gave her an update and pleaded with her to not come over, that there was no point. Only after promising he would keep her posted throughout the night, she relented. He breathed a sigh of relief. One less thing to handle.

He didn't take his eyes off Jordan, fearing that he might miss something, as if being observant now could redeem him. When Gillian became pregnant, he vowed that being a dad would be the one thing he'd excel in, after failing in every other respect. He considered it his last chance, the one thing left for him to be good at, but he had come to know the signs by now. Jordan's injury would leave a scar, no doubt, and that was enough of a reminder for a lifetime.

This was why he had objected so fiercely when Gillian brought up the divorce issue. He refused to believe there was another failure ahead of him. He'd had two unsuccessful relationships before her – one that had ended faster than he could say 'viva la vie bohème', and the other one had turned up to be a long-termed illusion from which he had sobered too slowly. Things were supposed to be different with Gillian. They were dating for nearly a year before he proposed. He didn't even know what pushed him to do it. It came as a surprise to him as well. But when he put that ring on her finger, he decided that this relationship was going to last. He was tired of doing the wrong thing.

From a very early point, though, it was clear it wasn't working. They both had demanding jobs that ate away at their time and energy. When Jordan was born, he felt they were granted a second chance. However, it turned out to be just another delusion. Jordan was just the glue for another crumpling relationship. Nonetheless, he was determined. It was the one relationship he was going to salvage, for Jordan's sake, if not for his own. But Gillian insisted, and separation was a compromise to which she halfheartedly agreed.

Since she'd moved to Boston with her mother, he'd hardly seen Jordan. He'd come over for a day every other weekend. She always cried when he left, and he always spent the train ride to New York trying to erase her tearful face from his mind. He always told himself that he'd come for a longer visit when he got a chance. When this conference in Boston came about, he was the first to sign up for it. He was thrilled to have a chance to spend time with Jordan. Who knew; maybe she'd send some of his bad luck away.

And now his bad luck ricocheted right at her.

No. He shouldn't think that. She was going to be okay. It was just a nasty cut, that's all. They kept her overnight just as a precaution. Dr. Gilmore would have told him if something was –

There was a light knock on the door before it creaked open, putting an end to his musings. He sat up and stretched. There was a silhouette of a woman, hesitating on the doorway. In his hazy state of mind, he figured it was probably the nurse Dr. Gilmore had promised to send over. "Come in," he whispered.

She nodded and walked into the room. "Dr. Gilmore said you'd need – " She stopped abruptly as her eyes met his. She gasped. The blanket she held fell noiselessly to the floor. "Oh my God."

He recognized her the moment she did him, and slowly stood up.

" _Maureen_?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Maureen?" he asked, his voice a mixture of awe and uncertainty. The light in the room was dim so he couldn’t see her very well, but her voice… he'd recognize it anywhere. Another relationship that had gone wrong, one so deeply buried that it had almost slipped his mind. Three failing relationships then… four, counting Gillian. How embarrassing. He couldn't even remember the last time he had seen Maureen. Could it really be so long ago?

Wordlessly, she stepped into the light, and his doubts were gone. It was Maureen, but she looked so different. She wore the generic uniform nurses had often worn, pink and shapeless. Her hair was tied back in a messy yet elaborated braid, which made her eyes look huge. She wasn’t wearing any makeup. She looked exhausted – the dark circles beneath her eyes would account to that. There was not a hint of glamour about her, and yet he had never seen her more beautiful than that moment.

"You're staring at me," she said, laughing softly. The sound brought him more than a decade back. But there was something different to it, a nervous edge, almost. She seemed almost embarrassed by the attention.

"Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting – of all places – What are you doing here?"

"I work here." Her voice was more toned down, somehow.

His forehead cringed in confusion. He vaguely remembered her saying something about going back to college, shortly after Collins had died, but now it felt as if a whole portion of her life was unknown to him. "When did you…?"

He'd never really uttered the words, but she guessed his question nonetheless. "I think I started nursing school after we lost touch."

"What happened to the stage?"

She knelt to pick up the blanket she'd dropped. Her smile was melancholic as she handed it to him. "I grew up."

His open stares seemed to make her uncomfortable, but he couldn’t help it. He feared that if he blinked, she would evaporate, as memories often did, although a part of him refused to believe that. He thought his past had been long buried beneath the burden of routine and work and fatherhood. Seeing her stirred something within him, something he thought had ceased to exist.

Her eyes suddenly left his; he stopped himself from protesting. He watched her as her gaze wandered towards the bed. She watched the sleeping child for a moment before she brought her eyes back to his. She said nothing, but her request was clear, and he nodded his approval. She walked passed him to take a look at the chart by the foot of the bed. Once she'd finished her inspection, she sauntered to Jordan's bedside and looked her over, briefly touching her bandage, brushing a lock of hair away from her forehead. Then she tucked the blankets more tightly around his daughter, nodding to herself.

The way she moved around his daughter's bed fascinated him. The motions were automatic, but not non-caring, just as if they were routine. It was as if she had done it all her life. "So you're a daddy now."

It wasn’t a question, and still he found himself nod in reply.

"Is she a lot like you?"

"I don’t know. Unfortunately, I don’t get to spend as much time with her as I'd like to." He paused, unsure how to continue, or even if he should. He'd never faced the need to talk about it with anyone. But she was facing him now, her eyes imploring him to go on. He couldn’t stop the words from coming. "My wife and I are separated. Jordan lives with her. I don’t see her as often as I used to." But he didn’t want to dwell on his own depression. He wanted to know more about her. "How long have you been living here?"

"I finished nursing school in 1996. I did half my residency in New York, but then I was transferred here. I've live here ever since." There was a chair near the opposite wall, and she brought it closer to Jordan's bedside, next to his chair. "I thought you'd be still living in New York City," she said as they sat down.

"I am."

"Still in the East Village?"

"No, I have an apartment uptown." He and Gillian had picked it together. It was an easy commute to both their offices, and Jordan's room had a view to a nearby park. Now it felt too big for one person. "I'm here for work. My wife lives here, so I thought I'd spend some quality time with my kid." His eyes wandered to Jordan and he grimaced. "That didn’t work quite as I planned."

"What happened?"

"She fell when I was out of the room. I should have known better than leave her alone. I don’t know what I was thinking."

"Always blaming yourself. It's nice to know one thing about you hasn’t changed," she smiled wistfully. There was a pause, and then she started, as if waking from a dream. "I have to go," she apologized. "I only just started my shift and I…"

The pang of disappointment hit him harder than he'd expected. "Could you come back later?"

Her hand slipped into his. He looked up at her; he wasn’t expecting her to do that. Her palm was soft and warm. She seemed worried. "You really should get some sleep."

Huh. Right. "I won't be able to sleep," he said, keeping his gaze locked with hers, wordlessly pleading.

She wavered, but then nodded, and slowly pulled her hand away and stood up. "Okay. I will."

xoxox

As the hours ticked by, and still she didn't show up, he began to fear that it had all been a dream. He opened his eyes a few times and even pinched himself only to assure himself he was still wide awake. He stared at the empty chair beside him, at the blanket on his lap, both proof of the fact she had been there in the room with him.

He knew it was childish of him to be frustrated with her absence, but he couldn’t help it. So much had been left unsaid. Suddenly he wanted to hear everything: how she got to Boston and how she did in college. Nursing school seemed like a random choice, even for Maureen. It was miles away from what he'd always thought she'd end up doing, and far less glamorous. Maybe if he paid closer attention back then it wouldn’t have come as such a shock for him now.

He almost envied her for what he had found in her eyes. She looked… weary yet content, a sentiment he remembered from a long time ago, when he had still had his art. This was the future he'd planned for himself, but something went wrong along the way.

He didn’t know what time it was when she returned. His frenzied slumber was disrupted by the sound of creaking door. She meant to turn back and leave, but he insisted she'd come in; he'd just closed his eyes for a minute, he said. She was reluctant at first, but then came to sit beside him again. Apology still lingered in her eyes, as if she felt bad for waking him. He shook his head, dismissing her concern. Sleeping felt like such a waste of time.

They talked of nothing of importance at first, random small talk two friends would make after years of not seeing one another. He learned that she had lived alone in an apartment close to the hospital. She had a cat that disappeared about three months ago. She wasn’t married. She wasn’t seeing anyone at the moment. He told her a bit about Gillian and his job, and quite a lot about Jordan. Most of her questions were about his daughter, and he answered them all. He knew what he wanted to ask her, but kept quiet. He didn’t want to force her into telling him things she didn’t feel comfortable speaking about. But then, a few moments later, the conversation died a little. Suddenly she looked distracted.

"Tell me." The words left his lips before he managed to hold them back. She met his eyes; she looked almost scared. "It's okay," he whispered, but instantly scolded himself. He didn’t mean to press her. If she walked away, it would be your fault, he told himself. Yet another failure.

The silence in the room was so complete that when she started speaking, her voice, although low, startled him. "I spent a lot of time with Collins towards the end," she said. Her stare was fixed on the opposite wall. "It pissed Joanne off. She didn’t say anything at first, but I knew she didn’t like it. I didn’t confront her because I couldn’t see what her problem was. She used to spend nights in her office while she was working on an important case. Collins was my best friend and he was dying. I had these nightmares where I'd come to see him in the morning and he would be gone, so I stayed with him. I didn’t want to risk not being there if he…"

Her wounded expression was heartbreaking. He knew exactly how she felt. He'd been there.

"Then one night I was exhausted. Collins insisted I'd go home. He had another friend with him, and they said I should go home and get some rest. I only agreed because I couldn’t see straight. I hardly slept at all for two days. When I got home, Joanne was up waiting for me. I'm not sure how she knew I'd be home that night. I was barely coherent enough to defend myself, but she didn’t really want to fight. Like the lawyer that she was, she had all her arguments already laid out. She said that me being with Collins was coming in the way of our relationship. She asked me to make a choice."

She looked up at him. The memory lingered, deep and painful, but her eyes remained dry. He figured she'd spent many tears on it already.

"I chose Collins, and he died the week afterwards," she said quietly. Now when she'd said it, he suddenly remembered wondering where Joanne was during the funeral. Maureen was a wreck that day so he didn’t dare to approach her about it, but it kept him and Roger speculating. When Roger met her at the Life Café a few weeks later, she told him she was going back to college. They figured she must have broken up with Joanne at some point along the way, but they'd never got to learn the particulars.

"I had prepared myself for weeks for Collins' death, but you can never be fully prepared. I took it bad. I couldn’t stop crying. I barely got out of bed for a week after the funeral. But it also kind of helped me because I got a chance to think things through, reconsider my choices. It changed my perspective entirely. I went back to college. I applied to nursing school. You know the rest.

"Something happened to me when I saw you at Collins' funeral. I realized that Joanne's ultimatum was no different than the way I made you choose between me and Roger back then."

He tensed. Back then. He remembered that fight. It was shortly after April died, and he spent all his time tending Roger and, according to her, neglecting her.

"You chose Roger, and I resented you for that, because I couldn’t see how anything was more important than being with me." A bitter chuckle escaped her, as if the absurdity of it had just occurred to her. "I didn’t get it until I was in the same position. Roger was your best friend; of course you'd stand for him." She grimaced, as if the memory hurt too much. "I planned to come over and tell you all that. I wanted to apologize for acting so selfish. I'm not sure why I didn’t. I guess I thought it was ancient history as far as you were concerned. I knew you were over it because you were finally seeing other people. So I stayed out of your way."

"What would you have said if you got the chance?"

"That I'm sorry I made you make that choice in the first place. That I was wrong, expecting you to be able to choose. That resenting you for it was one of the stupidest things I've ever done."

"Do you feel better now, saying it?"

She smiled sadly. "Just… sort of relieved it's finally off my chest, but that's about it." She shook her head. Her eyes were serious now, boring into his. "I've put you through hell. I wish I knew how to make up for that time."

For a moment, he was speechless. The change was so overwhelming; it took him completely off-guard. Maureen Johnson he knew had no faults, as far as she was concerned. He'd never dreamt he'd witness her admitting her mistakes, let alone apologizing for them. And yet there they were. "You're wrong, you know."

She seemed puzzled. "I didn’t put you through hell?"

"No, not about that part." That part was pretty damn accurate. "I've never truly gotten over you," he said, slowly putting thoughts into words. "I don’t think I've done anything right ever since you left."

"Wasn’t she right?" she asked, nodding towards Jordan.

"I guess so, but at what cost? What sort of a role model am I for her if her mother and I can't be in the same room together without arguing?"

"Is this why you won’t divorce her?"

He had only mentioned he was separated before. He wondered how she figured it out. "If I divorce her, it will be a final seal on my list of failures," he found himself admitting. "That, and I don’t want to ruin Jordan's life."

"Don’t you think you're ruining her life by staying married to someone you don’t love?"

"Custody battles are nasty, and I don’t want to put Jordan in the middle of something like this."

"It doesn’t have to be like that if you get yourself together and try to work things out with your wife first. Maybe if you give her what she wants, she'll give you what you want."

"Why am I getting relationship advice from you?" he asked, shaking his head incredulously.

Her eyes glimmered in the faint light. "Because you're delirious and can't think straight."

She stood up and crossed the room. She stopped by the window and turned her back on him. She stood there fumbling with the curtains. He wanted to go over to her, but he found himself unable to. He was transfixed. Every now and again, lights from a passing car would illuminate her features with a silver glow. He wished he could tell what was on her mind, as a distraction of his own thoughts, at least. They were whirling uncontrollably, getting into a seriously dangerous path.

He tried to push those thoughts away. He was lonely, that's all; lonely and vulnerable. Under no circumstances this had been a good combination. He shouldn’t fall for her so easily after all this time just because she seemed so changed, because she apologized for something that had happened years ago.

But it must mean something. What were the odds of him running into her here, miles away from home? To have their paths cross as they had tonight? He wanted so badly to believe that it wasn’t coincidental, that somehow, he was granted the second chance he had been yearning for. But it was ridiculous. He hadn’t seen her for over a decade. Those past feelings shouldn’t rush back in so swiftly, surely not with such intensity. It would be silly to believe that all this time, he had been unconsciously waiting for her; silly and improbable. Besides, nothing she had said indicated she had shared those feelings. As far as he knew, Joanne was the first in a series of female lovers.

He could try, at least. He had absolutely nothing to lose, except for his dignity, and given the goings-on of the previous night, he didn’t have much of that left, either. He stood up slowly and approached her. If she'd heard him, she didn’t show any inclination of it. She kept staring at nothing ahead, engrossed with the images in her mind. There was a sharp intake of breath as he laid a hand against her waist. He froze at the sound, but she didn’t try to push him away. Nor did she look back at him. Standing at such close proximity to her, he could feel her heart racing.

"Hypothetically, if I divorced Gillian, will you consider giving you and me another chance?" he whispered the question in her ear.

It felt as though forever had passed before she turned to face him. She leaned back, so that she was cornered between him and the window. Soft pink tinted her cheeks. The sight caught him off-guard at first; he thought it must have been a trick of the light. He had never seen her blush before. Her air was guarded, her smile tight and careful. "Hypothetically, I think I might."

"Have dinner with me tomorrow night. I mean… if you want," he added, stumbling over his words. It dawned on him that he might be coming on too strong, and his confidence waned somewhat.

Nonetheless, her smile seemed more certain now. "I'd love to," she replied. He returned her smile, now relieved. "It may sound crazy... but in a way I think I've never gotten over you, too."

Her confession remained hanging there, and he wondered what she really meant. He figured there were a few mysteries about her he was yet to unravel. Her eyes were timid, gleaming in the dim light. It was all so familiar, yet so brand new. He had never seen her so… tamed. He reached out to touch her bottom lip with his thumb, half expecting her to fade away, like apparitions did.

She stood there frozen beneath his touch, her gaze locked with his. Her eyes spoke what her lips wouldn’t, providing him with the confirmation he'd sought. "If you don’t mind the four hour drive," he pointed out, leaning closer to her. A mild setback, but he wouldn't let it deter him.

Her fragrance lingered between them. It was different than he had remembered, softer, more suited to the new her. Her lips curled slightly, as if with a grin. "Oh, but I know something you don’t," she said.

Her eyes were leering at him. He knew he was meant to question her enigmatic remark, but with her face just inches apart from his, so close that their noses were almost touching, his priorities sort of shifted. Things were moving way too fast, fast beyond reason, but for this one moment, he couldn’t care less.

Holding his breath, he closed the remaining distance between them and let his lips graze hers with the slightest touch.

"Daddy?"

He flinched back, as if bitten by a snake. Casting an apologetic glance at Maureen, he rushed to Jordan's bedside. She was half awake, still groggy-looking, but her eyes seemed alert as they focused on his. "Hey, sweetheart. Are you feeling better?" She nodded, and he smiled at her and tucked the blankets more tightly around her. "Are you in any pain? Do you need anything?"

She shook her head no, and looked at him earnestly. "You're staying, aren’t you, Daddy?"

"Of course I'm staying. I'll be right here when you wake up, okay? I promise. Now close your eyes and go back to sleep."

"'Kay."

There was a hand against his shoulder. He turned to face Maureen, who shook her head apologetically. "I should go," she said.

Although there was reluctance in her tone, he didn't try to protest or convince her to stay. She had work to do and he had kept her long enough. He made sure Jordan was asleep before he walked Maureen to the door. She put her hand against the doorknob; he put his hand on hers to stop her. "When are you off?"

"At six," she replied somewhat shyly as she leaned against the door. "I go back at noon."

No wonder she looked so shattered. "Do you always work around the clock like that?"

"It's worse this week. We have two sick nurses, so a few of us are doing their shifts."

"Maybe dinner is not a good idea."

She cocked an eyebrow. "You're not chickening out, are you?"

"You look so tired," he said, gently taking her hand.

She shook her head dismissively. He noticed that she didn’t try to pull her hand away. "I'm fine. I'm used to it." She smiled at him again. He could get used to that new, tender smile. He found himself returning it.

"I'll try to come find you before you leave."

"Don't. She'll want you to stay with her."

He glanced at Jordan, and guilt washed over him. She was right; she would.

"She's not staying with you tonight?"

He cracked a smile. "Are you chickening out?" He shook his head. "As soon as Gillian gets here, she probably won't let me near her until my next visit, if I'm lucky." He was determined not to think about it for the time being. "How can I contact you? Do you want me to pick you up from here at the end of your shift?"

"I'll get your number at the desk and give you a call later."

He wished he had one of his cards on him so he could save her the trouble, but they were in his laptop case back at the hotel. He nodded, and slowly let go of her hand. A bit too late, it dawned on him he could just text her if she had her phone on her, but she was already a considerable distance away and shouting after her at the deserted hallway seemed rude. And he had no intention leaving Jordan, whatever the reason and no matter for how brief a time.

A yawn escaped him, almost despite himself. He was so tired it literally ached. He made it back to the chair and sat down. He could feel his eyes close without him willing them too. Just for a few minutes, he told himself, giving in. As he drifted, he thought he was hearing the distant sound of a guitar playing a familiar tune… a waltz, Musetta's Waltz –

A soft sound disrupted the silence all of a sudden, a shuffle of feet. He jolted awake, and a young nurse raised an arm, as if with apology as soon as their eyes met.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Cohen," he whispered, eyes slightly wide as though he'd been startled too.

He shook his head at the younger man who was leaning over his daughter's chart. He stretched, joints creaking. It felt he'd been sleeping for hours. He had completely lost all sense of time. Indeed, the room was not as dark as before; soft light filtered through the half open curtains. He didn't realize just how deeply he had slept.

Feeling slightly disoriented still, he got up and joined the nurse by his daughter's bedside. "How is she?"

"It’s looking good," said the nurse; his name tag read Jonathan. "The doctor will probably want to rerun some tests just to be on the safe side, but you can probably leave in a few hours." He observed the young man as he spoke. There was still this glimmer in his eyes, as though he hadn't been burnt out yet, maintaining the resilience of youth still.

"Thank you." It wasn't until nurse Jonathan was at the door that a memory jolted, making him clear his throat. She still owed him an answer. "Hey, do you happen to you if Maureen has left yet?"

"Maureen?" echoed nurse Jonathan, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"The nurse who worked the night shift... Maureen Johnson? She's an old friend... I'd like to say goodbye before we..." His voice trailed off at the expression on the nurse's face.

"Mr. Cohen, I've been working here for six months, there's no Maureen Johnson on the nursing staff."


	3. Chapter 3

The shock the words had inflicted hit so fiercely, like a punch. Disappointment rushed in, threatening to pull him under, shaking him to the core. Then how, he wanted to ask, but thought better of it; he knew how it sounded, and nurse Jonathan seemed to think him somewhat unhinged as it was. He murmured a thank you and softly shut the door behind the younger man, leaning against it with a sigh.

That's when he noticed the chair by the bed; just one, with the other still across the room. There was a blanket on the floor where it had dropped when he woke up, a blanket a different nurse must have brought during the night. He had no such recollection. He only remembered her.

Was it all in his head, then? She seemed so real; every aspect of her. Even when he told himself it couldn't be, that the coincidence was too incredible, her warmth, her touch, her scent, were enough to persuade him. Was he simply desperate enough to be seeing what he wanted to see? And if there was some divine purpose for the apparition, what was it, if not the sole purpose of tormenting him?

He felt like stomping his foot like a child, dropping to the floor in a tantrum; yelling that it wasn't fair, at no one in particular. Why would the universe hand him this gift, just to be snatched away so damn soon? Luckily at that very moment Jordan stirred, slowly waking, and the memory of what had occurred the other evening put things into sharp perspective. The rest of his bitterness evaporated as he rushed to her side and gently took her hand.

"Daddy," she murmured sleepily, her eyes slowly focusing on him.

"Morning, sleepyhead." He was all choked up; the tears of a worried father, not a disillusioned brat. "Did you sleep okay?" Jordan nodded, hugging her unicorn to her chest. He knew better than reminding her of her resentment towards it mere hours before. "How are you feeling?" he asked, softly squeezing her hand. "Anything hurts?"

"No." She looked at her bandaged arm and her little face twisted in a grimace. "The stitches are in there?"

"Yeah. You were such a brave girl last night." He wondered how much of it she actually remembered. He knew the whole experience would be scorched in his memory for a very long time. 

"When can we go home?"

"Soon. The doctor will want to see you first, I think." He helped her sit up, and ran his fingers through her hair. "Are you hungry? I can get you something from the cafeteria." He would kill for some coffee, the stronger the better. Even if it came from a hospital cafeteria. 

"Pancakes?" she asked in that hopeful sort of tone. He chuckled through his tears.

"I'll do my best, sweetheart." He leaned to kiss her forehead, breathing her in.

The door all but tore open, and Gillian stood in the doorway, disheveled and wide-eyed. It was then he remembered his promise to keep her posted throughout the night. Which had never actually happened, as he was too busy having an imaginary conversation with an ex girlfriend he hadn't seen for over a decade. 

"Jordan! Honey, are you alright?" She barely cast a glance at him as she rushed forward. He slowly let go of his daughter's hand and stepped slightly backwards, sensing her need for reassurance that her child was safe.

He ran a hand through his hair and glanced around the room once more. Looking for any hint of her presence. It seemed her essence was etched solely on his body; the room remained untouched. But wait... His eyes suddenly fell on the medical chart at the foot of the bed. He approached it casually, inconspicuously, and let his eyes fly across the sheet. He didn’t remember her actually writing anything in it, but if she was there last night, maybe – 

"How did this happen?" 

It was a moment before he realized the question was meant for him. He looked up from the chart and found Gillian eyeing him. Not a glare, thankfully; she seemed too weary. Nonetheless, he couldn't find the words to reply. Whatever he said would sound like an empty excuse. He messed up. He lowered his head in defeat, a wordless admittance of his failure. 

"I'm not mad, Mark." Gillian’s voice was unexpectedly soft. He dared to look at her; indeed, there was no menace in her eyes. "Those things happen. It could happen on my watch."

Except it didn't; it happened on his. It made all the difference in the world.

"You did the right thing, bringing her here."

"Daddy was here all night," Jordan informed her mother.

"I'm sorry I didn't text you more often," he mumbled, blushing ever so slightly at being the subject of conversation.

"It's alright. I knew she was in safe hands. In hindsight, I'm glad she was with you this evening and not with her babysitter."

He felt like pinching himself, but didn't want to disrupt the delicate balance of things. What the hell was going on? Was he still sleeping? That would explain a lot, actually. Maybe that was the hallucination, not the previous night. He felt as though he was trapped in a chapter of Alice in Wonderland. They were reading it just the other day; could it subconsciously have that big an impact on him?

Jordan was showing Gillian the unicorn he had got her. They were trying to name it; couldn’t decide if it was a boy or a girl. Their heads were close together. He eyed his wife with trepidation, but it really did seem she wasn’t mad. She mainly seemed relieved nothing serious had happened. He could only imagine what passed through her head, coming home to all that blood... 

He thought back on the day they left, that first week without them. It was a different kind of pain than the pain inflicted by losing his friends. But looking at them now, he couldn’t deny their bond, couldn’t bring himself to resent Gillian for taking Jordan away with her. As upsetting and shattering as it was at the time, her decision sort of made sense upon seeing them together. Under her mother’s care, Jordan was thriving. Who knew what would have become of her had she remained under his care?

When Dr. Gilmore arrived some time later, she gave Gillian a full report of Jordan’s condition. She explained how to clean the wound and when they should return in order to remove the stitches. Soon after, they got the okay to leave. He followed Dr. Gilmore to the front desk; Gillian said she and Jordan would meet him there. She got Jordan a change of clothes, her hairbrush. He felt kind of clueless and incompetent in comparison. Maybe the saying was true; mothers did know best. 

The head nurse handed him the discharge forms with a curt smile. He grabbed a pen and skimmed over the paperwork halfheartedly. He was leaning against the counter, didn't even bother to sit down in the waiting area. He just wanted to get out of there. Adding his signature at the bottom of the page, he handed her back the pile, stifling a yawn. It had been an incredibly long night.

"Oh, you're the guy with the kid at Pediatrics?" she asked, and their eyes met briefly. He nodded, wondering why she cared. He was about to turn away from her. "I happened to hear one of my nurses; he said you were looking for a nurse."

Her half statement, half question, brought him to an abrupt halt. He could feel his heart beginning to race yet again. "Yes. Maureen Johnson. Do you know her?"

"Oh, I know Maureen alright."

"So she does work here?" Maybe he misunderstood nurse Jonathan. He was rather disoriented.

"That's just it. I'm not sure how you got the impression she's here. She's been gone for at least two years."

He grabbed the counter until his knuckles went white. The room was closing in on him. The words echoed in his ears. The rest of the world ceased to exist. Maureen’s enigmatic statement suddenly carried a terrifying meaning. I know something you don’t. His thoughts became one single prayer. Not her as well. Please, not her as well. "G-gone?"

As if noticing his sudden distress, the head nurse shook her head, chuckling a little. He blinked at her reaction. He had just received a message from the grave and she was, what, mocking him? "I only meant that she's back in New York. She's working as head nurse at a hospital in uptown Manhattan."

"In uptown Manhattan?" he echoed incredulously. For two years!

"That's right. I have her contact details in the system; I can print it out for you if that's..."

"Please." It came out more urgently than he'd intended. He could feel himself blushing.

The head nurse eyed him with amusement, then typed something on her keyboard. Somewhere behind her, a printer came to life. She excused herself for a moment, and returned with a printout and a gleam in her eyes. "You know, usually I'm not allowed to do this."

"I know. But I promise I'm not a stalker or something. I've known Maureen..." In another life. Realizing a statement like that might give the opposite impression than the one he was going for, he reached for the page she was handing to him. His eyes flew over the densely typed words. He knew the hospital; it was laughably close to his building. The document contained no personal information, though. There was no photo, no date of birth to rely upon. But it was a start.

"Thank you. So much."

"Best of luck." He could have sworn she winked at him. He barely had a chance to ascertain it, or make sense of it, for suddenly there was Gillian, holding Jordan’s hand.

"Mark?" She asked, looking at him strangely. "Are you okay? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

He chuckled. He sort of had, in more ways than one.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Just about," he replied, stuffing the printout in his pocket. He turned to thank the nurse again, but she was already busy, in the middle of a phone call. He walked towards Gillian. "So, umm, I guess I'll head out and find a taxi."

"A taxi?"

"Back to my hotel. I'm due at a meeting at noon." Okay, so that wasn’t exactly true, but it’s not like Gillian cared about his itinerary. 

"I came with my car, I meant to offer you'd crash at ours for a few hours. Looks like you need it." He must have stared at her incredulously, because Gillian laughed softly. "Look, what happened tonight got me thinking... about how things have to change. There's no reason why we can't work things out between us like adults."

"I couldn't agree with you more." It was sort of funny that the thing he had feared would push them further apart actually brought them closer together. It was their most mature exchange in months. 

"So will you go back with us? I'll make breakfast. Jordan said you said something about pancakes."

"Umm... okay, if you're sure."

"Please, Daddy!"

He could never resist his daughter's pout. Gillian smiled at him encouragingly. He hesitated for a second longer, then nodded. 

As he followed them out of the hospital into the pale morning, he was feeling more optimistic than he had in months. His daughter was going to be okay, and so was he. The last traces of helplessness he had felt only hours before quickly dissipated with every thoughts of the information in his pocket. He still couldn't make sense of their strange conversation in the middle of that crazy night, but at the same time he knew with clarity that absolutely everything had led him to that very moment. There was hope now, something to look forward to. He had refused to accept it before, but now he faced the finality of his marriage without protest. There were more important issues at hand; he had a renewed sense of purpose. He was determined to get his life back on track. Colors, love, Maureen - he was going to win them all back.


End file.
